


Wedded Bliss

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types, Bridget Jones's Diary - Helen Fielding
Genre: F/M, Wedding shag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 16:07:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,246
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4926178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre- and post-nuptial shagathon.  Not much plot to speak of. Not that this is a problem, right? ;-)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedded Bliss

It was the first time all morning that she'd had a moment's peace, and, she realised with a sigh, probably the last, particularly as there was another quiet rap on the door. Without waiting for her to respond, however, the door opened, and to her great surprise, it was the last person she expected to see.

"Mark!" she whispered harshly as he came into the room, closing the door carefully behind him, quickly striding towards where she sat at the vanity. "How did you even get in here? My mother will _murder_ you if she sees you in here with me. She's so superstitious—"

He held his index finger over his lips, shushing her, then bent to kiss her, holding the back of her head with his hand. She pulled back, all conviction gone from her voice as she spoke again: "I have to get dressed." She pulled the halves of her ivory silk dressing gown closer together.

"You can," he said quietly; he looked bloody handsome in his morning suit and top hat; he was clean shaven, and his hair (what she could see) precisely cut and immaculately coiffed. "In a moment." He took her hand, tugged on it to bring her to her feet. "Oh, you do look…" he began, but trailed off, his fingers tugging at the tie around her waist, then, as the tie opened, he slipped his fingers along the skin of her stomach.

"Mark," she said, trying to scold him, but it was so difficult to formulate a coherent thought when his lips touched her throat like they were now doing. She sighed. He pulled her up against him; his hand ran down to cup her arse, squeezing tenderly.

_To hell with wedding traditions_ , she thought as they began kissing passionately; she arched up into him, pressed her fingers into the front of his trousers. He groaned.

Under her dressing gown she had nothing on, which made things easy for him and his nimble fingers, but the opposite was not true for her. As he walked her back towards the bed—wildest fantasy, wedding day shag in childhood bed—he seemed not to be overly bothered; in fact, he seemed to have a plan, hitching open the front of his trousers and tugging them down along with his briefs. She gave them no further thought as he stepped between her legs and drew his hands over the soft skin of her inner thigh. 

He bent slightly so that he could kiss her again, but his hands moved insistently down over her body before grasping her hips. The strokes expertly delivered between her legs nearly made her cry out with pleasure, but he covered her mouth just as he drove forward and took her, right there on the edge of the mattress. 

Never had she been so grateful for the ridiculously high bed.

She hooked her legs around his thighs, dug her fingers into the suit jacket as she clung to him, as they moved together with each of his thrusts. The separation over the last few days meant that she was quick to arouse, and the same was true for him, though he held steady until her release took her over with a glorious shudder.

"Not a blushing bride," he said quietly, plying her with tender kisses, "so much as passion-flushed."

She giggled a little, then reached to kiss him very quickly. Then she came to her senses. "You'd better get out of here!" she said. 

"Your dad will run interference," he said, though he did draw away in order to compose himself and make good his escape.

"Did he let you in just to come up and shag me?"

"Well, I certainly didn't tell him that," he said drolly. He kissed her again. "I had better go, darling. Will see you in… about three hours."

He helped her to her feet, wrapped his arms around her waist, and kissed her deeply again.

"Until then," he murmured, placing his hand affectionately against her cheek.

"Mark?" she asked quietly.

"Yes, darling?"

"Tonight had better take much, much longer."

He laughed lightly, then reached to unlock the door. He cautiously stuck his head out and, seeing the coast was clear, he crept out in to the hall.

She sighed, tying her dressing gown closed, and sitting again. Any wedding day jitters had just been utterly obliterated.

"Not that I have a doubt in this world," she said to herself, then smiled, examining her own features in the mirror; her skin was rosy, her eyes bright and glittering. Passion-flushed, indeed.

………

Never had they seen such a radiant bride, the guests had kept saying. She would just smile and thank them graciously, fighting back the urge to giggle and reveal the reason why. Now that the reception was over—or at least, now that they had taken their leave for their wedding night—it was time to officially consummate the marriage.

Certainly they'd had sex before. This… this was different. Their relationship now cemented, elevated to bonded for the rest of their lives…

"Penny for your thoughts?" asked her new husband.

"Save your penny," she said with a smirk. "I think you know already."

"Ah," he said. "Another slice of cake?"

Playfully she gave him a little slap on the shoulder. He responded by pulling her by the upper arm towards him and into his embrace.

"I'm teasing," he said in a low tone, then bent his head to give her a long, passionate kiss. She brought her arms up around his neck, arched up into him. His hands rested on her backside, cupping it, drawing her tightly against him.

"I have been looking forward to this all day," he said in a low growl.

She smiled, laughing a little. "We only did it this morning," she teased.

"I know," he said. "Something about you in that gorgeous dress, though, the fact that you're my wife now…"

"Mmm," she said, grateful he had long ago shed his baggage about his first marriage. And he too was a vision in his wedding kit.

"May I have the pleasure," he said, then paused; it was so gallant her knees felt like jelly, "of divesting you of that gorgeous dress?"

"You may," she said quietly. He reached to begin the trail of buttons down her spine, but she added, "but after you're out of that suit."

He paused. "I suppose that is acceptable," he said, a light chuckle under his breath as he took his hands away.

She suddenly felt all thumbs as she tried to undo his own clothing; his waistcoat, his cravat, the shirt beneath, then the belt and trousers, pulling each piece from him with great care, her fingers lingering on his skin, making his breath hitch. She rested her hands on the waistband of his boxers when he placed his hands atop hers.

"I think it's time to repay the favour," he said.

"Oh, I don't know," she said playfully. "I have my own ideas about me in my dress, and you in that hat."

He reached up to take off the hat with a slight smile, and set it gingerly on the bureau. "No," he said, then turned to her with a look so intense that she was left almost breathless. 

"No?" she repeated.

"No," he reiterated. "No hat. No dress." He reached forward around her again, then, as he began to undo each of the small buttons, leaned down to kiss her with a deepness that left her head swimming. His hands were on her shoulder, then pushed the dress off and down off of her arms, then down over her hips to the hem of her slip.

As he tugged down the lacy pants, she was grateful for the choice of thigh-high silk stockings. He nuzzled into her neck, teasing her earlobe with his teeth and tongue as his hands rose again to her backside, stroking, massaging the skin there. She moaned; she could feel his arousal against her. Gracelessly she grabbed the fabric of his boxers and pulled down hard.

"Careful, darling," he said, ceasing his attentions momentarily to assist in sending his boxers downward.

She stepped back as he stepped forward and out of their clothing—she cared not in that moment for her dress—and within moments she was against the four-poster bed. She intended on pulling back the duvet and getting under the sheets properly, but it seemed he was not intent on waiting. He simply pushed her knees apart and stepped between them, leaning over her, lifting her arse. As he kissed her again, his hand moved down to caress the skin of her thigh, then grasped her hip as he thrust forward.

As he did, as they joined, a strangled cry left her throat; she arched up to meet him, hooking her legs about his thighs, meeting his passionate kisses with her own until he broke away to gasp and groan. She reached down to his abdomen, raking her fingers just over where their bodies joined, rewarded very soon by the catch in his rhythm, the guttural sound that left his throat, followed immediately by the final thrust and moan as he came.

"Darling," he gasped, leaning to thoroughly kiss her. She of course returned the kisses enthusiastically. 

"Darling," she repeated back to him, combing her fingers back through his hair with one hand, stroking the skin of his hip with the other as he rested atop her. He then shifted to her side, pulling her to face him.

"Oh love," he said, resting his head down on the bed beside her, turning to kiss her again. His hand lazily stroked her stomach, then ran over her hip. "You."

She knew what he meant; she had not had her own satisfaction; at least, of the same sort that he'd had. She was more than satisfied to have done that to him. "I know you'll make it up to me," she whispered.

"Yes," he said. His hand moved to her hip, to shift the slip up again to stroke the bare skin of her hip. Then he pulled it up and kept pulling it up until she sat to allow him to pull it over her head.

Under that she had the lacy but supportive bra, which he then took care to remove via the front clasp.

"Hmm," he said softly. "I think I shall begin here."

They shifted to be more comfortable on the bed, sitting in the centre, facing one another, her legs loosely about his waist. He leaned forward, cupping her face with his hand, then tipping her chin up to kiss her. He brought his hand down to touch then caress her breast, teasing the tip with his thumb. That hand then slipped down to her waist, her hip, her thigh, then down between her legs.

She gasped into his mouth as his fingers stroked over her, sending her into ever dizzying heights of pleasure. His other arm was around her waist, his hand splayed on her bottom, holding her, steadying her. She had been so close to climax from the previous shag that it didn't take much of this attention to send her over the edge, writhing and bucking under his touch.

"Oh," she sighed afterwards, after he pulled her close to him, up onto his lap, holding her close then kissing her tenderly again. With the way he was pressed up against her thigh, though, there was no mistaking his restored arousal, and she returned the kiss with a more escalated passion. She brought her hands up to the nape of his neck, raking her nails through his short hair there, causing him to shiver.

"Bridget," he said in an exhale of breath.

"Hmm?" she said, enjoying tracing a line over his shoulder, down his chest, to his abdomen. He didn't say anything else, at least not in anything understandable as language, as her fingers came down to touch, stroke, cup him, before she shifted up to relieve his obvious suffering.

As she lowered he let out something between a long sigh and a moan; she reclaimed his mouth as his hands settled upon her hips. Together they moved and rocked until she broke the kiss to tilt her head back. With the feel of his mouth against her neck, grazing his teeth, touching his tongue to her skin, she cried out as she found release again and again.

And then he came again, too, burying his face into her throat, his breath hot against her skin, his fingertips pressing hard into her back, until he took in a quick breath and encircled her with his arms.

"Oh, darling," he said at last.

"Mmm," she said, her cheek warm against his skin, his pulse strong and steady. She let out a long breath. She was happy, satisfied, utterly content.

He shifted a little, and without words they agreed to rest back on the pillows; he pulled the duvet up over them and held her close to him. She sighed as they snuggled.

Married life was, so far, pretty damned wonderful.

………

After the expected stress of such a milestone day, after the raucous activity pre- and post-wedding, naturally they both drifted to sleep, curled securely together in one another's arms. When she woke an hour or so later, she found him still fast asleep, pillow puffed up beneath his head. She shifted then raised her fingers to trace along his brow and cheek. He shifted, then opened his eyes and offered her a sleepy smile. She stroked along his brow and cheek again in the same tender way. _Those eyes_ , she thought; _those wonderful, soulful brown eyes._

"You all right?" he asked, his voice a bit sleep-scratchy.

She nodded. "Well-rested and quite relaxed now," she said. "You?"

"Never better," he said, reaching his own hand up to brush her hair out of her face. "Except perhaps feeling like I could use a bite to eat."

"Me too," she said, then turned her head and playfully took the nearest of his knuckles between her teeth, pretending to chomp on it. She then giggled. He smiled, too.

"Shall I order something in, then?" he asked. "What do you want to eat?"

"Maybe it's all of the exertion talking," she said, laying her head down on her folded arm, "but I have the hugest craving for something that's not very good for me."

"Like what?"

"Fish and chips. Pizza. Wings. An enormous Mexican-style burrito. Something like that."

He looked a bit surprised, then laughed. "That'll go so well with our chilling bottle of champagne."

"Let me have a look at what they have to offer," she said. 

She was in luck. They had an offering of chicken strips and chips, which she promptly declared she wanted; he opted for more standard fare, a steak with a side of potatoes. After ringing in the order, he rose from the bed in all his glory, donned a robe, then went over towards where the bottle of champagne was chilling in a bucket. He laughed lightly. "The ice is almost totally melted."

"As long as it's still cold, I'm good," she said. "Pop it open. Let's have some."

"On an empty stomach?" he said, slightly sternly.

She giggled. "It's our wedding night. Let's be rebels."

With that, he coaxed the cork from the bottle.

After a glug of the fizzy stuff she felt it already going to her head. "Whee," she said, setting the flute down. "Oh, that _is_ good stuff."

He sat beside her. "Take it easy," he said. "We have twenty minutes at least before the food will be here."

"Oh goody," she said, grinning evilly. She cleared her flute, set it down on the nightstand, then, with surprising rapidity, tugged his robe open.

"What are you doing?" he asked, genuinely puzzled.

"Just fancying a starter," she retorted, then reached to grasp him firmly.

"Darling. Oh."

The first word was said harshly; the second, more of a sigh. She stroked avidly; his lids began to flutter. She then lowered her head and began attending to him with her lips and tongue. He said her name repeatedly with increasing desperation, his hips twitching involuntarily up into her. She delivered the coup de grâce, lips around him and tongue swirling, which set him off; he groaned as he came.

She raised her gaze to him, saw the beatific expression on his face as he opened his eyes and looked to her with a sleepy gaze. She sat up, feeling very smug to have brought him to satisfaction so quickly so soon after their last shag; her eyes then darted to his hand, and she couldn't help but chuckle. 

He drew his brows together in obvious confusion.

She explained: "I'm just impressed, that's all."

He looked to his hand, too, and saw what she meant; he was still holding his mostly full flute, and had not spilt a drop of it. Coolly, as if he were Bond or similar, he tilted the flute and took a long sip.

She burst out in laughter. He swallowed, then turned to her with a serious expression before cracking a smile, too. He then set down his flute and moved his hand to her abdomen, trailing downward, bending to give her a kiss—

Only to be interrupted by a crisp knock on the suite's door.

He stopped before he could take action. "Fuck," he muttered.

"Rather the opposite," she murmured in response.

With a deep inhale and exhale of breath, he rose from the bed, adjusted the robe, then went to the door to welcome their late dinner. Fortunately, Bridget was safe from view from where she sat on the bed, though it didn't keep her from diving under the duvet.

"Your chicken and chips await, m' lady."

She peeked her head out to see a sumptuous array of delicious food on the tray he bore. 

He continued, "I think with this we can allow you a little more champagne."

"You are too generous," she teased back.

Although it felt a bit strange to eat such a dinner with a vintage like the one they were enjoying, it was fact delicious. She was sure it was because she was absolutely ravenous. She noticed that he too ate voraciously and said about as much as she did, which was almost nothing. She looked up just as he did, meeting his gaze, and simultaneously they both started to chuckle.

"We did rather work up an appetite," he said drolly.

"Truly."

When they were finished they set the dirty dishes aside; only then did she notice a separate covered dish and a second bottle of chilled champagne on the wheeled cart that had come in. "What's under there?" she asked.

He smirked as he uncorked the second bottle, topped up their flutes. "Dessert."

Thankfully, despite the dinner and the drink, she didn't yet feel ready to burst. "Ooh," she said, taking her flute. "What is it?"

"Something I think you'll enjoy and appreciate." He rose, picked up the covered platter, then sat down beside her again, his own flute at his side. He took off the domed lid.

"Oooh," she said, moving to sit beside him again on the bedside. There on the plate were about a dozen huge, red, plump, ripe strawberries that had each been dipped in a dark chocolate, then drizzled with a fine line of white chocolate. "That looks…" She trailed off as her eyes followed a berry being raised up to her lips. She opened her mouth then took a bite; the strawberry was indeed very juicy and delicious, and combined with the chocolate she made a low sound of utter pleasure.

"Must be good," he said, "if even you can't find words."

"Mm-hmm," she said, chewing, savouring the mouthful.

His gaze flicked down for a split-second, then up again to meet hers with that incredible intensity she knew all too well; he still held a partial strawberry, but he didn't eat it, nor did he feed the rest to her. Instead, it fell from his fingers, hitting her inner thigh, then falling to land between her legs. She had a feeling it was no accident, and this was reaffirmed when he spoke.

"Allow me to get that for you," he said quietly. "Clean you up."

He reached to scoop up the partial berry; she could feel the juice on the most sensitive of her skin. She also knew, though, what would come next; what had been interrupted when dinner had arrived.

He placed his hand on her hip, then bowed down over her, placing the flat of his tongue against her inner thigh, and dutifully licked her skin. She leaned back onto her elbows as he moved to the floor at her feet, parting her legs, pulling her arse to the edge of the bed. She laid back, hooking her legs over his shoulders, sighing then moaning as he grasped her hips, as his tongue touched to her, moved over her, stroking gingerly at first, then with increased pressure.

It did not take long at all, particularly once he began to also employ his fingers, for her to reach a mind-shattering climax; she cried out, inadvertently digging her heels into his shoulders, grasping the bed sheets as she came again and again.

At long last, she fell back to the bed, her legs hanging limply over the edge. She gasped for air as she felt him on the bed next to her again, brushing the backs of his fingers along her face, throat, down to her breast.

"Mmmm," she said lazily, her head swimming in the dizziness she still felt, trailing her own fingers in an arc on the linens. "That was lovely."

"Lovely?" he asked, amusement tingeing his tone.

"Fucking lovely," she amended; she heard him chuckle. She looked to him. "Do you have, er, unfinished business?" she asked, though it was clear he did.

"Do you mind?"

She laughed lightly. "I do _not_ mind, sir," she said with exaggerated formality. He climbed down from the bed to between her legs again, then leaned over her, and as he kissed her, as she brought her legs up around his thighs, he drove forward with a throaty groan. After a half dozen of such thrusts, he tensed up and came again.

"Darling," he said in a gravelly tone, snuggling up beside her on the bed, gathering her to him, rolling to the side.

"I think I might be lying on the rest of that strawberry," she said, lifting her backside up. He leaned over her then began to laugh, peeling the smashed remains of the chocolate-covered berry from the cheek. Then, after a moment's pause, he leaned forward and licked the chocolate-berry mess from her skin, causing her to giggle.

They fed one another the remainder of the bowl of berries without further incident, sipping on champagne between bites. She felt utterly lightheaded and giggly.

"I suppose a shower is out of the question," he said.

"A shower, yes, perhaps it is, since I don't think I could stand unassisted," she said, tripping over the multisyllabic word. "A bath, though, would not go awry." She tried to focus her eyes on him. "How are you not utterly plastered?"

"I'm bigger than you, I think I had less than you," he said. "But that doesn't mean I'm not somewhat pissed."

She laughed. "You have better self-control than I do," she said; she noticed the lack of vehement denial, and laughed again.

"I'll run the bath," he said, rising from her side. Her eyes followed him as he walked away, drinking in the sight of that fine, still-pert backside. She sighed, thanking her lucky stars once again.

She heard the water thunder on, closed her eyes with a satisfied smile still on her face; before she knew it he was shaking her shoulder gently, waking her from her drunken slumber. "Darling, the bath."

"Ah, yes, sorry."

"You're not going to drown in the tub on me, are you?" he asked jokingly.

"Pfft," she said. "I'll be fine." After peeling the silk stockings off of her legs, he helped her to her feet, though she quickly found she couldn't seem to stay upright. He put his arm around her waist to support her, then helped her get into the bath. 

The water was pleasantly hot as it swished around her body, soothing the aches she didn't even know she had. She sighed. He chuckled, slipping in with her; the bathtub was large enough to accommodate the both of them side by side.

"This does feel fantastic," he conceded.

She felt the tensions of the day—whatever tensions remained after those glorious shags—seep out of her pores as the hot water lapped at her skin. She swept her hand over his shoulder, his chest, as they cuddled in the bathwater, the bubbles floating mesmerisingly on the surface. She drew a deep breath, then exhaled. He in turn ran his fingers over her shoulder and upper arm in a slow, tender caress. 

"This might just be the most perfect day of my whole life," she murmured, closing her eyes.

"All good things don't have to come to an end," he said.

"We have to sleep at some point," she said, concern in her tone.

"Well, yes," he said with a laugh. "I only mean that today is only the beginning."

_The end._


End file.
